Murphy's Law ✔️

Chapter Fifteen.

It had been a month since Zayn had passed when Murphy finally had a breakthrough in her grieving process.

Harry had gotten used to waking up every morning to find Murphy curled around him with hands clutching tight at some part of him, as if he could slip away from her at any moment. He'd use the loo, brush his teeth and wash his face, and then make coffee before making his way back to the bed where he'd gently wake her up with a tender kiss on the forehead and a steaming cup of coffee (black, just how she liked it).

Their day would start with them quietly drinking their coffee together on the sofa with a rerun of an early 2000's sitcom playing on low volume in the background. Murphy would stare blankly at the screen as Harry would shoot glances her way every few seconds. On good days, he was able to see the ghost of a smile curl her lips when a character made a cheesy joke, but usually, she sat stoic and monotone. He never knew how much he could miss a person's smile.

Then, he would walk her to work. Most days it was a comfortable silence with their hands intertwined between them, and on other days, it was light conversation. He never pushed her to talk to him and she appreciated that from him, and then again, Harry never knew how much he could miss a person's voice.

Saying goodbye to her was an entirely different process. On the days she would smile and make conversation, it was a gentle kiss they shared, perhaps a squeeze of her hand before she gave him a timid smile, and then she was off.

On bad days, it was almost too difficult and too heartbreaking to leave her side. She'd grasp the back of his shirt a little too tightly and press her cheek to his chest, shut her eyes too tightly, and hold onto him for minutes at a time. Harry would hold her just as tightly and whisper gentle promises of his return at the end of her shift until she finally got the courage to pull herself off of him and walk through the doors of the cafe. Harry, the most patient man she'd ever met in her life, would never pull away first. She would never know how to express her gratitude for that.

On the morning of May 12th, Harry woke up to a cold bed.

A crash from the kitchen and the sound of laughter floated through the air and suddenly he was sitting up in confusion. For a moment, he almost thought his apartment was being broken into, and then he heard the gorgeous, honey-like rasp of a singing voice float through the apartment.

"I've got sunshine," she sang loudly- beautifully, "on a cloudy day..."

Harry's feet found the floor, and with the slightest of stumbles, he was making his way out of the bedroom.

"When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May..."

Scratching his chest, his eyes searched wildly through the living room for the source of her voice. The scent of something sweet filled the air and his mouth started watering as he quietly walked through the room.

"Well, I guess you say, what can make me feel this way?"

Stepping through the threshold of the kitchen, Harry's jaw dropped. Murphy stood at the stove, clad in a t-shirt that reached only to her waist and a pair of boxers sitting low on her hips. With her back to him, she was swaying her hips rhythmically, a spatula lifting what looked to be a pancake off of the frying pan and onto the plate. Turning the stove off, she began slowly turning towards him, her eyes shut and the spatula held under her mouth- her very own makeshift microphone, he realized with a grin.

"My girl, my girl! Talkin' bout- oh, holy fucking shit!" She exclaimed, the spatula dropping to the floor with a crash as Murphy flinched at the sight of Harry leaning against the island, his arms across his chest. Harry's face hurt from how hard he was grinning, he was sure his cheek muscles would be sore later.